Song of Morning

Your voice greets me in your absence 
Slow strum of the guitar
as words drift languidly in air
Towards another shore
you have journeyed
Some future day
perhaps I'll see you
waving from the beach

Children of Alice
Voices speaking together
Do this all for her

The Eternal Season

Grief stains like red wine spilt

on a white linen shirt.

Loss calculated by

what-ifs and almost-weres.

Eternity, a place

of safe conjecture

for those still running

from Marathon.

A warmth that brings

no comfort

begets a blossoming flower

that endures a lifetime.

A mountain-top in Winter,

A desert in Summer,

Branches in Fall.

Spring…

when?